


Once Upon A Diner

by xXdreameaterXx



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 22:51:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4684250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXdreameaterXx/pseuds/xXdreameaterXx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clara is a waitress in a shabby American Diner until she meets the Doctor, a man in a dirty suit who is carrying around an old guitar. He seems strange but also oddly familiar and he will change her life in ways she couldn't imagine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon A Diner

She had been working the late shift for the last three weeks and still there was no end in sight. Clara yawned as she was wiping the table, getting rid of the ketchup stains the previous customers had left behind. Just 30 more minutes until closing time. Her feet were sore and the day had been hot, the blue dress still felt damp and was clinging to her body in a way that irritated her a great deal. She was in desperate need of a shower. Just 30 more minutes.

Suddenly she heard the bell on the door ring and Clara turned around to see two bikers walk in. One of them whistled as he saw her and once again Clara wished that her skirt was just a tiny bit longer.  
“Hey love, do you still serve coffee in this place?” the other asked.   
Clara loathed this crowd so much, especially when she was alone in the diner with no other customer or colleague to defend her in case things got out of hand. One more reason to hate the late shift.  
“Sure,” Clara replied matter-of-factly and made her way to the counter. She grabbed two mugs and the coffee pot and walked back to the table the two men had just sat down at.   
“Can I get you anything else?” she asked, as unfriendly as possible without sounding rude, and staring at her notepad. She didn't want them order anything else, she wanted them to leave quickly so she could go home, “But I need to warn you. We don't have much left.”

Before she could move back, one of the bikers had reached out and grabbed her ass.  
“I'll have a piece of you, if you don't mind, love. I have a thing for English gals,” he sneered at her.  
Clara managed to wriggle free off his touch and put enough distance between herself and the men.   
“If you do that again, you'll end up with coffee in your eyes instead of your mug,” she tried threatening him, but she knew it would do no good. Her voice was quivering and she was visibly scared.  
The men laughed heartily.  
“Uhhh, that's a feisty one. I like that,” the man who had grabbed her said and got out of his seat. He was towering over Clara and she was currently considering two options: kicking him in the groin or running away across the street to the petrol station. 

“Leave her alone,” a low, gravelly voice said with a hint of a Scottish accent.   
Clara turned around immediately. She hadn't heard him enter, and apparently neither had the two bikers, but he was standing there by the door, a man in his 50s, dressed in a dirty suit. Thank God. She was no longer alone and instantly felt a lot safer.  
“Excuse me, grandpa, what did you say?” one of the bikers asked him while Clara stepped farther away from them.  
“I told you to leave her alone,” the Scottish stranger sounded bored.  
“And what if I don't?”  
The man with the silver hair sighed. “I was going to ask you nicely, appeal to your common sense because I've already had a slightly annoying day, but since you appear to be an absolute pudding brain, I'll just have to do this.”  
He pulled out a piece of paper, showing it to the bikers. Clara would have loved to know what was on it because all of a sudden the two men looked scared, but from her angle it just seemed blank.   
“Uhm,” the man who had groped her cleared his throat, “Sorry. Won't happen again. My pal and I, uhm, we'll better get going.”  
“Good idea,” the stranger replied with a hint of a smile, “And don't forgot to pay. Oh, and I think a nice tip is in order, what do you say?”

The bikers nodded and each of them threw a bank note on the table before they left, not even daring to throw Clara another glance. Finally the door closed behind them. 

Clara sank down on one of the barstools with a long and heavy sigh of relief.   
“Thank you so much,” she said to the strange man who had helped her, “I don't even want to think about what could have happened if you hadn't come in. Thank you, seriously, thank you.”  
“My pleasure,” the man said with a friendly smile. He gathered the money from the table and handed it to Clara as he took the seat next to her, “Here, your tip.”  
It was a 50 dollar note each.  
“Wow,” Clara laughed, “What the hell did you show them? I don't get that much in a week usually.”

She looked up at the strange man and for the first time really took in his appearance. He wore a white shirt under a grey suit that was covered in dust and dirt as if he had been rolling around in the desert outside of town. He looked handsome in an unusual way, but also kind of sad, and very, very tired. She liked him immediately, not just because he saved her, but also because of his accent. Clara had started to feel lonely in this country, and he was the closest thing to home she had encountered in a very long time.  
“Hey, can I get you anything?” Clara asked. She had almost forgotten that she was the waitress and he probably a customer.   
The stranger looked up. “I, uhm, I don't have any money,” he admitted, “Had a bit of a rough day.”  
“Well, seeing as you just saved me and we close in 15 minutes, I think I can give you the leftover coffee for free this once,” Clara gave him a wink and got up. She gathered the coffee pot and two fresh mugs and set them down in front of them on the counter.   
“Do you want a pie with that? They're from the afternoon and we would just throw them out anyway.”  
The man granted her a smile. “Pie sounds great.”

Clara prepared one for each of them and two minutes later they were sitting at the counter, eating and drinking the coffee.   
“I'm Clara by the way,” she said after a while.  
“Clara,” the stranger repeated and she liked how her name sounded when he spoke it, “Nice name.”  
“Thanks,” Clara chuckled, “I got it for my birthday.”  
The man looked at her. It took him a moment, but eventually he laughed. “And a sense of humour, too.”  
“Oh, you need that in this place. You've just seen the clientele. And how should I call you?”  
“Uhm,” the man hesitated for a moment, “In situations like these, I usually go by John Smith. But you can call me the Doctor if you like.”  
“Is either of that your real name?” Clara raised an eyebrow.  
“No,” the stranger admitted, “But most people call me Doctor.”  
“Are you a doctor?”  
“No.”

Another moment of silence passed and the Doctor took a big sip from his coffee mug.  
“Okay, that's a bit. . . weird, but why not. Doctor. Doctor _Who_?”  
“Clara Who,” he smiled at her teasingly.  
“Oswald, actually. Clara Oswald.”  
“You're far away from home, aren't you, Clara Oswald? What brings you here?” the Doctor asked curiously.

She sighed. It was a long story of her failed life. “I'm from Blackpool, England. After school I wanted to travel, but I soon ran out of money. Now I'm stuck here.”  
“Not just you. I was just passing through and my ride broke. It will take a while to fix it.”  
“What kind of car is it?” Clara asked, “There's a workshop on the other end of town. Maybe they can help.”  
The Doctor smiled to himself. “I doubt it. It's a rare model. Unique even.”  
“Oh,” she mouthed, “Well, I hope you can fix it soon.”  
“Why?” he laughed, “Are you bored of me already?”  
“No,” Clara replied immediately, “That's not what I meant. But if you're passing through, you probably have somewhere to go.”  
“Just. . . wandering. Travelling. Seeing new things. Maybe I'll take you with me when I leave,” the Doctor laughed. Clara wasn't sure if he was being serious. She had just met then man and yet, if she could choose between being a waitress in this diner and travelling with a stranger – she would probably choose him.  
“Alright, I better be off. You have a diner to close,” he said as he rose from the barstool.   
Clara watched him as he made his way to the exit, turning around the closed sign.   
“Maybe I'll see you around? I mean, you said you'd be in town for a while.”  
“Probably,” the Doctor smiled, “Good night, Clara Oswald.”  
“Good night, Doctor. And thanks again.”

 

**OOO**

 

It was an hour before closing time and Clara already considered locking the place down early tonight. Not a single customer had come in in over an hour when she heard the bell rang again. The Doctor greeted her with a warm smile. He was still wearing the suit from the day before, only now it seemed even dirtier, and a guitar was strapped around his shoulder.  
“Good evening,” he said in a low voice, a smirk curling around his thin lips.  
“Coffee and pie?” Clara asked and already reached for the pot.  
“This time I can even pay for it,” he took the exact same place he had sat in the night before and sat the guitar down next to him, “I found this old guitar that I forgot I owned. Played it in the streets. These people here are really generous.”  
“You can play?” Clara asked as she took the seat next to him again, shoving the plate of pie in his direction.  
“Uhm, yes, apparently,” the Doctor replied and he seemed genuinely surprised.  
“You're weird,” Clara giggled, “I like that.”

There was a pause as they ate, but something from last night was still on Clara's mind.  
“So, where are you going. . . once your ride is fixed?” she wanted to know.  
“Phew, anywhere,” he said, swallowing a bite.  
“Are you travelling alone?”  
“What is this? An interrogation?” he raised his eyebrows, “Currently, yes, I am alone.”  
“Did you mean it when you said you'd take me with you?” Clara decided to be bold. She really wanted to leave this place and there was something about the man that made her feel like she could trust him.  
“Would you leave with a complete stranger?” he asked her honestly.  
“Anything's better than staying here.”  
“Now there's a compliment,” the Doctor scoffed, “It depends, Clara. It can be dangerous. Are you up for that?”  
“I don't think you're dangerous.”  
“Not to you. Ask a couple of Daleks, I bet they have a different opinion.”  
“Da-what? What are you talking about?” Clara asked, frowning. He was strange, maybe even crazy, yet she still felt somehow drawn to him.

“Nothing,” he said after a while and a smile spread on his face, “If you want to, you can come with me. There are places in this universe I could show you that will take your breath away. Literally. But I did warn you.”  
Clara started to laugh. “Okay.”

 

**OOO**

 

He came in every single day of the week, his suit getting progressively dirtier with every passing day and a grey, stubbly beard was starting to grow out of his chin. During the day the Doctor was playing the guitar, earning a bit of money and Clara was still waiting tables at this shabby diner. He was strange and eccentric, maybe even mad, but he was the nicest person Clara had met in this country. Maybe he reminded her of home, maybe it was the promise of adventure and travel that made her grow fonder of him with every passing day. They sat in the empty diner at night, drank the rest of the coffee, ate the leftover pie and talked, some days even past closing time.   
“Tomorrow,” he announced as he entered the diner on the 8th day since their first encounter, “My ride will be fixed and charged tomorrow. _Our_ ride, if you still want to come with me.”  
A huge smile spread on Clara's face. She squealed a little and ran towards him, flinging her arms around his chest.  
“That's wonderful!”  
“Clara,” he said, his voice suddenly odd, “What are you doing?”  
“I'm hugging you, silly,” she said, her face buried in his shirt, “Oh dear.”  
She let go of him immediately and took a step back, wrinkling her nose. “I'm sorry to tell you this but you need a shower. And those clothes need a wash.”  
The Doctor opened his mouth, he looked a bit hurt. “Well, all my clothes are in my ride at the moment. Locked away.”  
“I have an idea. Why don't we pack the pies and go to my place? You can take a shower, we can wash these clothes and eat while they dry, huh?” Clara suggested.   
“It's still an hour until closing time.”  
Clara shrugged. “Last day. What are they gonna do? Fire me?”  
The Doctor frowned. “Good point.”

Clara wiped off the surfaces, packed the last pies and left a note for the early shift before she grabbed her coat and headed out with the Doctor. Her flat was a 10 minutes walk away from the diner and she apologized for the state of it as soon as they arrived.  
“I've seen worse,” the Doctor stated, looking around the room, “Have you ever seen how Vikings live? They're a messy people!”  
Clara frowned. “You always say these weird things and I never know whether you're trying to be funny or. . .”  
“Or what?” he turned around to face her.  
“Or whether you're being serious.”  
“Maybe a bit of both?”

“Okay,” Clara exhaled sharply, pointing at him, “Off with these clothes.”  
The Doctor's eyes grew wide. “Now? _Here_?”  
“Not here, silly, in the bathroom. Come on, I'll show you how the washing machine works. It's broken, there's a trick to it,” she said and gestured for him to follow her.  
“You just put your stuff in, select the temperature, add washing powder, and then you kick it really hard like this,” Clara's foot hit hard against the machine, “And then press start.”  
He frowned at her and a second later he was on his knees, opening the lid to the electronics of the washing machine. He looked around, slightly confused for a moment, before he pulled a device from the pocket of his jacket.  
“What's that?” Clara asked, but she got no answer.  
He stuck it into the machine and Clara could see a faint, green glow and a humming sound.  
“There, should work without violence now,” the Doctor said as he struggled back unto his feet.  
“What did you do? What is that?” Clara pointed at the thing that had already vanished back into his pocket.  
“That's a screwdriver.”  
“But it glows and it makes sounds,” she frowned.  
“It's a screwdriver with light and sound. Practical. It's dark down there.”

Clara still wasn't convinced, but she decided to just let it go.   
“Whatever,” she finally said, “You can use my bathrobe. Might be a bit short, but it's too wide for me, so it should fit.”  
She turned around to retrieve it from its rack and handed it to the Doctor, who looked at it suspiciously.  
“It's pink,” he noted after a moment.  
“Yes, it's a girly bathrobe. I'm a girl.”  
“Yeah, I, uhm, I noticed,” he replied, his eyes wandering down her dress.  
Clara suddenly felt the urge to tug at the skirt of her outfit. Men were staring at her all day, and the one she had been wanting to notice her never had. Until a second ago. Up until now he had seemed completely oblivious to the fact that her blue waitress outfit was rather skimpy and now that he had noticed, in a way, it made her slightly uncomfortable.   
“Take your shower. I'll go make coffee,” Clara finally said and left the bathroom.

Clara closed her bedroom door behind her, trying to bring as many walls as possible between herself and the Doctor in the shower. _The Doctor in the shower_. She really needed to get out of this dress and she absolutely had to stop imagining what was going on two doors down. She had met this man a mere week ago, she knew practically nothing about him, he seemed utterly mad sometimes – and yet there was this vaguely familiar feeling about him that she just couldn't place.   
Clara stripped out of the apron and the blue dress and changed into a more comfortable t-shirt dress and a pair of cosy socks. Tying her hair in a messy bun, she made her way back into the living room / kitchen to prepare their dinner and make some coffee. 

Only a few minutes later the Doctor emerged from the bathroom, wearing her pink robe. Clara tried to refrain from laughing, but it didn't work.  
“Oh my God, you look so ridiculous,” she sniggered, but that wasn't entirely true. Yes, he looked absurd in the pink bathrobe, but once she had looked past that she was again distracted by his freshly washed hair that he had tried to comb back neatly, but the curls still came back up rebelliously. And then there was the unshaven chin that he was rubbing abstractedly. The next thought that went through her mind was that the robe was the only thing she had given him. There was nothing but skin underneath it.  
“Come one, sit on the couch with me,” Clara heard herself say, “I warmed up the pie for us and made coffee.”

She let herself fall down on the sofa, stretching her legs out on the small coffee table as the Doctor carefully sat down next to her, tugging at the end of the robe, but no matter how hard he tried, it seemed to only just cover the essentials, which made Clara all the more curious. If that was where the _essentials_ ended. . . She really needed to find out. All the tugging had loosened the knot in the belt and now Clara could see his chest shining through.  
“The robe is uncomfortable, isn't it?” she asked.  
“No, no, it's alright,” he said and tied the belt back into a knot.  
“Here, let me help you,” in a moment of sheer boldness Clara reached across his lap, placing her hand right on his upper thigh. She could hear him swallow hard.  
“Clara, what are you doing?” he asked, his voice sounding as if he was in shock.  
“Don't worry. I know what I'm doing,” she said calmly and let her hand wander along the inside of his thigh until she could feel it. . .   
The Doctor suddenly jerked back.  
“No, you really don't know what you're doing,” he said, scooting over to the other end of the sofa. Clara followed him and before he could react she swung one of her legs across his and straddled his lap.  
“Clara,” he gasped, “Bad idea. Very bad idea.”  
“Quite the contrary, I think it's a brilliant idea,” she replied with a smirk and started grinding against him.   
“No,” he groaned in frustration, his voice desperate, “Clara, we can't do this. This is wrong. You don't understand. _I'm not human_.”  
“What?” she almost shrieked. Clara looked at him and noticed that he was really fighting this, “Don't be silly. Of course you're human.”  
“No, I'm really not.”  
“You're just scared. Don't be,” Clara bent down to kiss him but the Doctor pushed her away.  
“Of course I'm scared, you're sitting in my lap,” he groaned, “What is with you horny women? You see a male and you immediately try to jump him. What is wrong with you?”  
“Doctor,” Clara said, sitting up straight and in the movement accidentally pushing herself harder against his groin. He winced beneath her, but she ignored it. “You're not making any kind of sense!”  
The Doctor took a deep breath. “I'm so sorry, Clara. Forgive me.”

He raised his hands to her temples and Clara was uncertain of what he was doing, but suddenly everything went black.

 

**OOO**

 

Clara woke up and almost had a heart attack. She was still lying on the sofa where the Doctor had left her the evening before and he was towering over her, staring at her.  
“Oh my God, Doctor, what are you doing?” she yelled at him. It was almost like a natural reflex.   
“Waiting for you to wake up. Come one, we have no time to loose,” he explained quickly.  
“What?” Clara asked in confusion and suddenly she remembered what had happened the night before, “What did you do to me last night? What happened?”  
“You fell asleep,” he shrugged, “It happens. Now, come on, our ride is ready.”  
“I'm not going anywhere with you, you lunatic.”  
“Says the woman who assaulted me yesterday. Come on, Clara. You still want to leave, don't you?” he asked.  
Yes, she did. And she also didn't think he was a lunatic, although her ego was slightly cracked.  
“Fine,” she muttered and slowly rose from the sofa.

 

**OOO**

 

“How much longer will be have to walk?” Clara complained as more grains of sand found their way into her boots.   
“We're here,” the Doctor announced, the pride audible in his voice.  
Clara looked around. She couldn't see anything but desert and the city behind them.   
The Doctor turned around to face her, his hands suddenly grabbing her upper arms. He wore a huge grin.  
“This is the moment, Clara Oswald. Are you ready?”  
“Ready for what?” she asked, genuinely confused, “There's nothing here.”  
“Yes, yes, there is, close your eyes, Clara,” he sounded mad and suddenly she wasn't sure anymore of she could actually trust him, “Come one, close them.”  
“Fine,” Clara muttered and did what he asked. She could hear his footsteps and the sound of his weird screwdriver.  
“I made her invisible. Didn't want to attract attention. Oh, and you can open your eyes now.”

Clara blinked. A big, blue box seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, but it was a vintage police box, not a ride.  
“Where did that come from?” she pointed at the thing, “I don't understand. Are you messing with me?”  
“No, no, no, no, not at all, Clara, look,” he said and opened the door. Clara spied inside. It seemed huge. But it was impossible. It was just a box. “It's called the TARDIS and it can take you anywhere. Literally _anywhere_ in all of time and space.”  
“Time and space?” she raised her eyebrows, “You are messing with me.”  
“Absolutely not. Come, have a look,” he gestured for her to enter the police box and she did, carefully, one step after another, taking in all the impressions. She gasped.  
“It's smaller on the outside,” she breathed.  
The inside of the TARDIS seemed infinite as she soon noticed. After crossing the first room, Clara entered a jungle of corridors and before she got lost in them, she returned to the console room. 

_The console room_. She had no idea why she called it that but it seemed like the right word for it.   
“You said that the first time, too,” the Doctor remarked with a smirk.   
“The first time? I don't understand,” she spluttered, “I have. . .”  
“You've never been inside the TARDIS? Tell me, how does it feel?”  
“It feels. . . homely.”  
“Homely, or _like home_?”

Clara looked around again. It was as if she was trapped inside a deja vu, like she had somehow dreamed of this place before. And there was the Doctor, who was practically a stranger and yet so familiar.  
“I've been here before, haven't I?” she asked boldly and she didn't even know what had made her say that.  
The Doctor smiled sadly. “We've been travelling together for a few years. When we tried to land here, the TARDIS had a little accident. We were separated and you lost part of your memory. I don't know why she did that, but she's fixed now and recharged and I was able to find you. You must have felt that we had a connection and just. . . misjudged.”

Clara remembered the previous night.  
“Oh,” she uttered, “We don't. . . really . . . do that sort of thing. . . do we?”  
Another sad smile.   
“Sorry,” Clara apologized.  
“I'm looking forward to you blushing once you get your memory back,” the Doctor chuckled, “Well, I'm pretty sure I can find a way to reconstruct your memory with the TARDIS working again. Just a matter of time.”  
“You actually are an alien,” Clara suddenly realized and began to laugh, “And you actually have a time machine.”  
“You've known that, Clara,” the Doctor said calmly.  
“Yeah,” she took a deep breath, marvelling at the sight of the console. Suddenly there were tears in her eyes, “You're right. This does feel like home.”  
“Good, shall we go then?”

A smile form on her face as her hand wandered to one of the levers.  
“Yes,” she replied, grinning as they pulled the lever together.


End file.
